


Drunks and Children always tell the truth

by Taboo_writter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gabriel is done with the UST, Humor, Jealous John Watson, Kid!John, M/M, Parentlock, Pranks, Sam is really sorry that his bf can't behave, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:43:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taboo_writter/pseuds/Taboo_writter
Summary: "Yes well John seems to be a child."..."No literally. He is about 3 feet tall says he is 4 seems to not know how to read. He doesn't even know how to prepare tea!"..."I am fully aware that you are not a babysitter however there isn't a logical explanation for this other than your idiot partner has decided to play a prank on me so come solve it before I decide to-"..."Yes alright I will wait."Or how Gabe decided that the UST in 221B was too much and thought the best solution was to turn John into a honest child.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic so sorry if it sucks. Hope some of you read it and like though....

John was a military man. He had a routine. Especially when he had a shift at the clinic. So when 7:20 am came by and Sherlock _still_ didn't hear him getting ready it became obvious that something was wrong. Now Sherlock hadn't slept at all so if someone had entered the flat he would have known. But John could still be in some way or another unwell. So out of pure concern for his best friend (and absolutely no desire to see him dishevelled from sleep) Sherlock rationalize that checking in on John would be an adequate response. So he peeled himself from the sofa and made his way through the flat and up the stairs to John's room. Stoping only for a moment in front of the door as if to knock before discarding the idea and simply walking into the room and calling out to him.

"John wake up or you will be late to your thetedious job which you-" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence as his eyes fed his brain data that seem in all accounts wrong.

"'lock? I'm sleepy."  Came the familiar yet absolutely _wrong_ voice from the much too small lump in the bed attached to an even smaller mop of sandy blond hair. The mop of hair rustled against the pillow attempting to go back to sleep and Sherlock's brain seemed to come back online.

"John get up and come here." He told the lump. The data was clear however he needed a closer inspection if he was going to admit the answer.

The mop of hair turned on its back and sat up sleepily revealing a smaller much younger version of the face Sherlock was accostumed to. But whith the same vibrant blue eyes only slightly clouded by sleep. The child stretched and and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to fully wake himself before turning towards Sherlock and blinking the sleepiness away. As soon as he stopped blinking his eyes caught Sherlock anf his face broke into a delighted smile.

"'lock!" The boy said enthusiastically and before Sherlock realized what was happening the child jumped out of the bed and into Sherlock forcing the detective to catch him. Sherlock tensed at the sudden hug but the child seemed unaffected keeping his arms around Sherlock's neck and burying his face in Sherlock's chest. " I had a weird dream that you jumped off a really big building." The boy said his words getting muffled by Sherlock's chest. He seemed to realize this  and looked up to face Sherlock and said in a tiny scared voice. "I was really scared 'lock I didn't know what I would do without you." He finished and reburied his face now in the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's hold instinctovely tighten the slightest bit on the child as if to comfort him. 

"Don't worry I won't be jumping off any buildings any size," he told the child when he trusted his voice again, then sat on the bed trying to settle the child in a comfortable position. "Now I'm going to ask you some questions. They might seem strange but you must answer understood?" He asked as he took the child's wrist in his hand quickly finding the pulse. The kid nodded against Sherlock's chest not allowing any space between them. Sherlock knew his tone was softer than usual and that under any other circumstances he would never allow a child to sit on his lap or _snuggle_ against him but all the evidence pointed that this child was somehow John, and John had always been the exception. "What's your full name?"

The child sighed.

"John H. Watson" he answered rolling his eyes. "You know my name 'lock why would you ask that?"

"How old are you?" The adult asked ignoring the child's question. The look of fond exasperation was replaced by one of worry.

"'lock do I need to tell Lestrade that you've been bad?" As realization of what John meant by 'being bad' hit him the dark haired man flinched. 

"No, I haven't  been bad John. I just need a couple of answers. It for an experiment." He gave a plausible explanation hoping not to startle the boy. John was more adaptable than anyone- after all he put up with Sherlock for years- but however adaptable he might be realizing he went to sleep in his 40's and woke up somewhere in the single digits would probably traumatized the child.

"You said you wouldn't ex-peh-ree-mehnt on me anymore after-" the boy started but cut himself in the middle of his sentence as if his train of thought had escaped him.

"I never agreed to that and this _experiment_  is of no concern so if you could answer." Now it was the detective's turn to roll his eyes but he answered matter-of-fact-ly making sure to emphasize the correct pronunciation of 'experiment'.

"Oh fine. I am 4," The look of fond exasperation was back on the tiny-doctor's face, "Now can we have breakfast please? I'm hungry." As if to emphasize his point the kid's tummy grumbled loudly. 

"Yes. I guess we could continue over breakfast." He said more to himself than to the boy. Then he looked down at the child in his lap and said "Get dressed I need to make a call" 

With that the detective stood up and gently placed the tiny-doctor in the bed and strode out the room. Preparing himself to lose some points off his IQ as it was doomed to happen even through the cellphone.

He sighed and picked up the phone. Sherlock Hated calling, but the Winchesters would never respond to a text and as interesting as having a four year old army doctor could be there is no way to know any of the side effects or even if this change is reversible. The detective dialed the number and ignored the twist he felt in his gut at the prospect of never seeing _his_ John again.

 


	2. Blue eyes and long coats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow people are reading this. Yay! I'm not good at updating I had like three chapters written but life happens and technology hates me so I'll try to keep up sorry for any inconvenience.

Mrs.Hudson knew  she had sing up for weird when she agreed to rent to Sherlock Holmes. Then came Dr. John Watson, a charming stable man who could keep Sherlock in line. Well so it seemed clearly Mrs. Hudson had been wrong. Dr. Watson could neither keep Sherlock in line nor was he stable. But he was good for the temperamental detective so she couldn't complain too much. Of course throughout the years of living with both men she had resigned herself to the life they lived. Complete with fake suicides, and assassin wifes. So she was used to the weird scenes. Bullets in the walls, heads in the fridge, explosions in the kitchen, clients in the living room, murderers every which way, kidnappings, drugbusts, etc. 

In fact she wasn't _just_ used to it, she was expectant of it. There was a certain thrill of not knowing what would be there when she opened the door to 221B. There just never seemed to be a dull day for her. However there were limits to the abnormalities a human brain could process. Sherlock coming back from the dead? Sure. Mary being an assassin with more faces than a diamond? Alright. Moriarty not being not dead? Fine. Sherlock having a secret third brother? Ok. The Winchester brothers from the books coming to visit and working with Sherlock to solve some case? In for a penny...

But no, there are limits. Mrs. Hudson's brain had to draw the line _somewhere_. The _universe_ had to draw the line somewhere. So when Mrs. Hudson walked into 221B she expected pretty much everything except what she saw. Nobody could blame her if she froze for a minute after all out of all the bizarre things to find in 221B a small bright-eyed sandy blond haired boy wearing on of John's way too long jumpers and a still sleepy expression was never even an option. As if that weren't enough to short-circuit anyone the child was tugging on to Sherlock's bathrobe and Sherlock was looking down at the boy with fond exasperation and a the same look of amazed interest he reserved for his experiments or very interesting cases.

"'Lock all my clothes are really big and don't fit." Said the kid. 

Now the landlady understood that she hadn't agreed to rent to Sherlock as much as she had had the honor of being chosen by Sherlock to be one of the few people he entrusted and could tolerate. This of course meant that she isn't stupid. Which is why the dots weren't too hard to connect. Yet the big question was still unanswered. 

"Why is John a child?" She asked in what she could proudly say was a steady tone. 

"Ah Mrs. Hudson could you possibly be a dear and make tea? It seems John no longer has the ability to." answered Sherlock as usual purposefully ignoring her question. John looked at her with a charming if slightly confused smile.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, what did you do to John?" She asked in her most stern tone which generally obtain a response from the petulant detective

"I can assure you Mrs. Hudson that I had no direct fault in John's current state. However if you could please make tea I am sure I could answer some of your questions." As Sherlock finished Mrs. Hudson huffed and turned around to presumably make tea muttering something about limits and sanity. Sherlock looked at the mini-doctor who was giving him a younger and somehow cuter version of the patented _Watson Glare™._ As the detective was preparing to dismiss the disapproving look he was interrupted by a txt message from Lestrade. 

 "Is that 'bout a case 'lock? Can I come with?" Asked the child the repremending glare completely forgotten in the light of adventure. 


End file.
